by Alexa Riley
Paying Daddy’s Debt
Alexa Riley
Contents
Paying Daddy’s Debt
Copyright
Dedication
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Epilogue
Untouched
Copyright
Dedication
Chapter 1
Also by Alexa Riley
Stalk the Author
Paying Daddy’s Debt
by
Alexa Riley
When Ash Carpenter imagines a schoolgirl, the image doesn’t match her. She wears long skirts that are sort of frumpy. Her bulky sweaters hide her shape, and her hair is always in a messy bun. Her tennis shoes are clunky and worn, and there are runs in her thick tights. Her dark-framed glasses hide some of her face…but not all of it. Because he’s caught sight of those ice-blue eyes, and they’ve pierced him to his core.
She walks by his office every day, and finally he’s had enough. Ash decides he’s tired of waiting and it’s time to collect what he’s owed. She’ll come with him, because there’s no other choice. She’ll pay her daddy’s debt any way Ash sees fit.
Warning: Oh, honey, this is about to get filthy. If your delicate sensibilities can’t handle the dirty, then step aside for those of us who can. It’s quick, but it’s just the right length, if you know what I mean. *slow wink, elbow nudge, goofy snort*
Copyright © 2017 by Author Alexa Riley LLC. All rights reserved.
No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods, without the prior written permission of the publisher, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical reviews and certain other noncommercial uses permitted by copyright law. For permission requests, email to [email protected]
http://alexariley.com/
Publisher’s Note: This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are a product of the author’s imagination. Locales and public names are sometimes used for atmospheric purposes. Any resemblance to actual people, living or dead, or to businesses, companies, events, institutions, or locales is completely coincidental.
Edited by Aquila Editing
Cover Photo by Sara Eirew
Cover Design Mayhem Cover Creations
To our readers that waited not-so-patiently for our next release.
Thanks for sticking with us!
1
Jasmine
“Jasmine.”
I look up at Mr. Clark over the top of my glasses. Sometimes I don’t even know why I wear them. The scratches are so bad on them, they can be hard to see through. But they’ve always felt like a barrier between me and the rest of the world. It’s something I want kept in place, even if they don’t work.
“The bell has rung,” he says, glancing over at the clock, telling me something I already know.
I heard the bell ring. I just wasn’t in a hurry to leave the classroom like everyone else. I’m not in a rush to join the crowd of milling students trying to get out the door, all of them running and bumping into each other. I hate crowded rooms. The walls always seem like they’re closing in on me. One would think I’d be used to it, growing up in a busy city, taking the subway or buses to and from school. But no, I’m still not accustomed to the feeling. Not even after eighteen years.
“Sorry, Mr. Clark,” I say, packing up my bag.
“Have you heard back from any of the colleges you applied to yet? I’m still willing to put in a good word for you, if you’d like,” he says, coming around his desk as I make my way to the front of the classroom.
Mr. Clark likes to stare a little too long at me. A lot of my father’s colleagues do it as well. It makes my skin itch, and I have to stop myself from scratching. My father calls it fidgeting and yells at me to stop doing it.
“I’m good, thank you,” I tell him politely, trying not to engage in more conversation.
I’m not going to bother with telling him I didn’t apply to any colleges because I didn’t have the money to pay for them. I made good grades and went to one of the best private schools in the state, all thanks to a dead grandfather I’d never met. But my grades weren’t good enough for any scholarships. Not with a school like this, where making a 4.0 is common.
It’s a school I don’t really belong at. I stand out—a poor girl surrounded by kids that drive cars that cost more than some homes. Certainly more than the one I live in. And people notice.
Mr. Clark steps in front of me, stopping me from moving. Reaching out, he takes a lock of my long, dark hair between his fingers. I stand there, unsure what to do. All the girls find Mr. Clark attractive. He teaches advanced algebra and is also the wrestling coach. He’s built like a wrestler. He’s stocky, like he spends hours in the gym, but not too much taller than me. I don’t understand why he pays me so much attention. The girls in my class practically spread their legs so he can get a look at them while he’s teaching.
“Do you not want to share your plans with me, Jasmine? You do have plans, don’t you?”
My plans are to get the heck out of the city as fast as possible. I’ve saved every penny I’ve earned so I can escape the moment school is done. I’m going to buy a one-way ticket to a small town and live a quiet life.
Maybe once I get settled somewhere I can find a florist’s or garden to work in, a place with so much space, I’ll finally be able to breathe. To be free.
Mr. Clark takes a step closer to me, and I freeze.
“I think you need someone to take care of you, Jasmine. I’m more than willing to—” The sound of a ringing phone on his desk cuts him off.
I jump back from him, putting space between us. I don’t wait for him to say anything, and I rush from the room, wanting to get away as fast as possible. I don’t stop moving until I clear the school and hit the busy sidewalk. It isn’t until I get down the main street and turn onto a less busy one that I finally slow my steps. I can finally take a breath, and it takes a moment for my heart to settle. I try to bat away thoughts of what will happen the next time I see him. As if it’s not bad enough being there every day…
As my anxiety fades to a dull thrum, I can take in the scene around me. The street is lined with buildings on one side and on the other is a giant park filled with flowers and playing children.
I walk slowly, breathing in the fresh air and wanting to linger as long as I can. I still need to check in on my neighbor Mrs. Joyce. She has a list of things she wants me to do for her, and I need to study for finals.
The end is coming. It’s so close I can almost taste it. Three thousand dollars I’ve saved. Once I have the diploma in my hand, I’ll be as good as gone. No more walls closing in. No more father I can barely stand to look at. No more having to be somewhere that makes me feel like I’m slowly dying. The calmness the park gives me leaves my body thinking about going back home and how long I have left.
Soon this will all be over I remind myself.
2
Ash
My alarm on my phone goes off and I reach into my pocket and turn it off without even glancing at it. I don’t know why I set the thing, but I always do. Like I could ever forget this time of day. It’s like I have an internal clock that is always ticking down to when I’ll see her next.
It’s three thirty in the afternoon, and I’m standing by my office window. I bought this building for the view when I started my company. It’s directly across from th
e park, and it’s nice to see some trees instead a sea of concrete. It cost a pretty penny, but luckily I make enough to afford it.
My pulse picks up slightly as I scan the sidewalk. The moment I see her, my palms start to sweat and I clench my fists to keep from moving. To keep myself from running out of this office and down to where she is to drag her away from the world.
Some men fantasize about schoolgirls, but I’ve never had that inclination. And even now as I watch the young woman, it’s not her uniform that’s pulling me to her. Her plaid skirt is long, over her knees. It’s a little baggy on her, which makes me think it’s a few sizes too big. Her white collared shirt is hidden under a worn sweater that looks like it was once black. Her dark hair is in a low ponytail, and her glasses are too big for her face. She’s wearing clunky combat boots and keeps her head down.
Nothing about her says she’s inviting sexual advances. Yet every morning and every afternoon I stand here and want her. My body screams for hers, to be pressed against her and for her to belong to me. Every inch of me begs to strip her bare and see the delicate sweetness that I know is there. I would treat it with such softness, even if I felt like I was ripping in two just to get inside her, making us one like fate intends.
I never make a move though. Never try to sate this desire that boils inside me. Instead, I watch her from a distance and dream of touching the soft petals she hides from me. Dream of how they would soften under my touch and dew with desire.
“Mr. Carpenter.” My secretary’s voice buzzes from the intercom, and I growl. “There’s a Mr. Brown here to see you.”
I reach behind me and tell Rachel to give me fifteen minutes. I don’t want to lose a second of my time with her.
Today she’s different. She looked so sad at first, and now she’s got her head tilted back with her eyes closed as the sun shines on her face, as if she is trying to wash something away. Something must have happened, and I clench my fists as I think about how I want to kill anyone who’s made her unhappy. My sweet flower has wilted and I want to do all that I can to make her better.
Reaching out, I touch the glass, wishing it was her cheek. How soft and sweet would she be under my fingers? Would she be warm, like a favorite blanket, ready to wrap around me? Would she lean into my palm, begging for my strength? God, how I would give it to her. Nothing on this earth would be out of her reach if only she were mine.
Minutes pass, and I see her take a breath and walk away. She leaves me standing here, holding my heart in my hands, begging her to take it. But she doesn’t know. Not yet.
When she’s taken the last step that puts her out of my sight, the dark cloud falls on me again. There is only light when I have my eyes on her, otherwise my world is nothing but dark. There’s nothing good in it but her, and I’m tired of her taking it from me every day when she leaves. It’s time to put an end to it. I can’t bare it any longer.
Reaching over, I click the intercom and tell Rachel to send in Mr. Brown.
I shake his hand when he comes in and we take a seat. Mr. Brown hands me a large envelope and I open it up, taking out the contents. He goes over a few things, and I try to keep my body calm as he explains what he found during his investigation. It’s over two hours before he leaves my office, and once it’s finished I can hardly contain my excitement.
“Jasmine,” I say, looking down at the pictures. Her dark brown eyes are so big up close. Her skin looks so much softer. I run a finger along the paper, wishing it were her. The camera doesn’t capture her true beauty. That would be impossible. No lens could hold the most exquisite being on earth. “Jasmine.”
Everything is in motion now, and I’ve never been more eager. I have to take a deep breath to calm myself, because my need for her is so close to the surface. I’ve found a way to make her mine. It will make me a selfish bastard, but I don’t care. I’ve spent my life living by the rules, but one look at her and it’s all over. I’ll break every fucking law this country has to have her.
No one will ever love her as much as I do. No one will treat her better than I will. I will make her happy and make her need me. Soon she’ll be mine. Soon the waiting will be over.
3
Jasmine
As I close my textbook I feel confident that I’ll pass finals. Not that it really matters much. Even if I fail them, I’ll pass all my classes. It’s not like I plan on going to college anytime soon, so my GPA doesn’t mean much to me. But something inside me won’t let me give up and I have to do my best. I wonder if that’s something I got from my mom. Because I know full well I didn’t get it from my father. He can barely keep a job, and I wonder how he even pays the bills. Or where he finds all the money he ends up gambling away.
I climb off my small bed and walk over to the open window. I’m happy that my father still isn’t home. Sometimes he brings friends with him and they sit and drink in the kitchen for hours playing cards. They make me uncomfortable, even being a floor up and away from them. One stumbled into my room drunk once, causing me to have a panic attack. I don’t know who freaked out more, him or me. But that thought that someone could so easily get into my room was unsettling. I haven’t slept well since that night.
I know when he gets here I’ll have to shut the window. Leaning out, I feel the wind hit my face and I smile. Spring has always been my favorite time of year. I can sit outside for hours and not have to worry about getting too cold or hot. It’s perfect. When I’m outside, I feel like everything is okay and my mind calms.
I don’t remember the accident, but some deep part of my brain must. I only know what I’ve been told. I was trapped in a car for ten hours while emergency services had to saw the car in half to get me out. I was only four at the time. It was hours before they found the car with me and Mom inside. Her car slid down a hill after hitting a patch of ice. They said she died on impact.
Tears fill my eyes as I think about the woman I can’t remember. I can only wonder what she was like. How could she have even been with a man like my father? Even if it was only a fling. My father has said before I’m a lot like her, and I know for certain I would never be with someone like him. I don’t understand. Or maybe that’s why he said it. She wanted nothing to do with him and neither do I.
I can’t remember anything before waking up in the hospital alone. Child services stood over my bed. No one had any idea what to do with me. They tracked down my father, who took me in. But I still don’t understand why. I have a feeling it has something to do with his own father, who was rich. I’d met him once when I was five, after he’d put me into a fancy private school. I think the reason my father took me in was because I was a ticket for him to get back in with his own father. He died soon after, but my schooling had been paid for.
He must have left my father some kind of money, because for a brief moment my father went on a little bit of a shopping spree. But he burned though it eventually with his gambling. All the things he bought he slowly sold off to further his addiction, leaving us with nothing in a run-down apartment.
All I know is, after the accident, I can’t stand being crowded in, feeling that I might be trapped with no place to go. It’s suffocating, and my father thinks letting me keep the windows open is coddling me. The man has never coddled me in my life, so the thought is laughable. Maybe it is only hurting my progress, but what does it matter if I want the stupid window open? As if he cares about it at all. Or if he does, he has an odd way of showing it. Or maybe I am like my father, because I have no feelings for him either. When I leave here I will never look back or try to make contact with him. He will just be a person who was in my life for a period of time and nothing more.
When I hear the front door, I lean back inside and close the window, trapping myself inside. Taking a deep breath, I turn and go over to my backpack, pulling out the money I made from helping Mrs. Joyce today.
I think she’ll be the only person I’ll miss when I move. I told her I was worried about who would help her when I was gone, but she simply gave me
a kiss on the cheek and told me she had it handled. I pull open the bottom drawer of my night stand and freeze when I see my little wallet is gone. Panic wraps around my throat, and I drop my hands on the table in front of me, unable to move. I try to work air into my lungs, but my chest only tightens.
Tears fill my eyes and run down my face. It’s gone. Everything I’d planned has been taken from me. When I hear my bedroom door open, I turn to see my father standing there. His cheap suit looks more worn than normal. He looks tired, like someone took a few swings as him. A bruise on his right cheekbone is new, and his lip is split.
“There a problem?” he asks, a hint of humor in his voice. He’s looking for another fight. I won’t give him one. I’m not sure if I have the will to argue in this moment.
I don’t even think I can talk if I want to. The tightness in my throat is too much. I want to run, and I need air. My hands start to shake.
“You’re eighteen. Consider the money I took as payment for your room and board.”
More tears fall down my cheeks, and for once I see a little compassion cross his face, a trace of guilt for what he’s done. My father has never been outright mean to me. Neglectful? Yes. But never cruel.
“I needed the money, Jasmine.” He shakes his head and walks over to my window, opening it and catching me by surprise. “I owed someone. You want to visit me in the hospital?”
I shake my head. I may not know love toward my father, but I don’t want him hurt. I don’t want anyone hurt.
“Dinner in the microwave?”
“Yes.” I finally get a word past my lips.
With that, he turns and leaves. I drop onto my bed and the tears keep coming. The open window offers no comfort.